History of Skyrim's Civil War
by Livius Nirrian
Summary: As Alduin's Wall predicted long ago, Skyrim is now plunged into a fierce civil war. In order to unify the region as quickly as possible, the Imperial Legion enlists two unconventional hero's to end the war; Menicus, an apathetic Imperial conman and Trallion, a High Elf with a personal vendetta against Ulfric and the Thalmor. And let's not forget about our true hero, The Dragonborn.


Chapter 1

 _In days long gone, men worshiped dragons. There were other gods and idols, of course, but the dragons were a major facet the these men's lives. The dragons used priests, and occasionally themselves, as means of keeping the populace under their talons. In Atmora, men and dragons got on much like kings and subjects do today, with relatively little conflict or chaos. However, once men arrived in Tamriel, things changed. Either through a weak leader, or an ambitious one, the dragon priests became tyrannical, and ruled with an iron fist. Men, being men, rebelled against this new and unexpected tyranny and, still being men, were killed in droves. Initially they were unable to do anything to the creatures they had worshipped as gods, and the men who had been given power by these beasts. However, some dragons joined the mortal's cause. We may never know why, but we do know this is what saved men from certain defeat. With the power of the dragon's, the power of the Thu'um, the dragons began to fall as well. However, one dragon proved far too powerful, even for the greatest warriors. Alduin, The Worldeater. Eventually, men found a way to defeat even him. Though the exact method was never discovered, it seems he was defeated, or at least driven away from Tamriel._

-Livius Nirrian, _Men in Tamriel_

The sky is dark, and storms rage around the mountain. Lightning flashes, illuminating the scene below. Hundreds of men are in groups, running down through the trees. Above, great beasts fly through the night. One flies downwards, unseen in the black of night, and appears as the fire erupts from its maw, setting the trees ablaze. A shower of arrows fly out of the trees, hitting the dragon, slowing it. A shout is heard, and the dragon is hit by a wave of ice, and slows more. The fire spreads, illuminating even more of the battlefield. Arrows and shouts fly from the ground, hitting dragons, and causing a few to fall. Dragons breath fire and ice, burning and freezing the men beneath, and shouts are heard, causing power to rain from the sky, drawing health and causing the ground to burn, explode, freeze and melt. Far above, a different battle takes place, a far more important one.

Three warriors climb High Hrothgar, the tallest mountain in Tamriel. The storm fights them back, pushing them, but they make progress, slowly, and close in on the top of the mountain. Few of the dragons fly this high, as they are far more interested in the battle down below. Eventually the warriors reach the top of the mountain, tired but determined.

"Gormlaith, we're running out of time. The battle…", calls a young warrior. The ground shakes as a dragon fell to the ground out of the clouds, ambushing the warriors.

"Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii. Today Alduin's lordship will be restored. But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now, in vain." The dragon curls back its head and breaths fire, but the warrior dodges the flames. His two allies are behind the dragon, seemingly hidden to it still. The warrior escaped the flames and runs toward the dragon, slashing at it with his axe. The dragon lashes out with its head, trying to bite the man, but he rolls to the side and avoids being hit once more. A female warrior runs toward the dragon, and hits it so hard with her sword the dragon is stunned. She climbs onto the dragon's head, still beating it with her sword.

"Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death," yells the warrior, balancing on the dragon's head. Steadying, she holds up her sword, then plunged it into the dragon, killing it instantly, and she jumps of the dragon's head.

"Hakon! A glorious day is it not!" Gormlaith yells to her companion, wiping the blood from her sword.

"Have you no thought beyond the bloodying of your blade?" yells hakon back, straining against the noise of the wind.

"What else is there?" Hakon looked over the edge of the mountain, back at the battle. Fire now burns across most of the valley beneath. The dragons had clearly been hurt, occasionally one of the beasts would fall from the sky, but the humans clearly were faring poorly. The swathes of burned land were indications of that. Hakon walked back from the edge of the mountain.

"The battle below goes ill," reports Hakon, miserably. "If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost."

"You worry too much will be ours." Hakon looked doubtful, then looked at the last member their party.

"Why does Alduin hang back? We've staked everything on his plan of yours, old man!"

"He will come. He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well," answers Gormlaith as a dragon roared in the distance, " Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day." The storm increased in fury, and the snow becomes nearly blinding.

"But none have yet stood against Alduin himself. Galthor, Sorri, Birkir…" begins the old man.

"They did not have dragonrend. Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head." The old man shakes his head saddly.

"You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the elder scroll" he reached behind him and pulls the large, ancient scroll from his back. The wind picks up so much snow it was beginning to become blinding, the company barely able to see each other.

"Felldir, we agreed not to use it!" shouts Hakon, approaching the old man.

"I never agreed. And if you're right, I won't need it." Felldir replies grimly.

"No, we will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now."

"We shall see soon enough," calls Gormlaith. "Alduin Approaches."

Hundreds of years later, Skyrim is host to yet another war. The stormcloaks, fighting for independence because of religious persecution and what they believe to be the destruction of their way of live. The Imperials have all but surrendered to the Aldmeri Dominion, and now the empire is attempting to force Skyrim to join the empire once again, and put down the rebels. Now, the Imperials seem to be on the verge of achieving this goal.

In Helgen, a group of Imperials discussed ways to end the war that was destroying Skyrim.

"We have to march to Windhelm. We can surprise them and put down the largest group of the rebels!" General Tullius pounded his fist on the table, fury obvious.

"That would never work" responded Legate Rikke, "It's is the middle of winter, and the stormcloaks, as small as they are, have camps all throughout Eastmarch and Whitehold. They may be stupid, but with limited supplies and support, we would get picked apart."

"They can't have that much control over the country. They have only been organized for a few months. I didn't even know that they were serious until he killed Torygg. Damn, this is going to be a long year. Well what do you think we should do about it? Hrollod, you have lived in Eastmarch for some time. Is there any way for us to get to Windhelm without Ulfric finding out? Or at least close enough for his army to not be able to reach us before we get there?" Tullius was standing now, breathing hard.

"I am afraid not sir. It's impossible. We could bring our own supplies, the slow option, and we would be spotted by Ulfric scouts long before we made it to Windhelm. Alternatively, we would need to supply at the towns and villages on the way, which is swifter, but most of them are rebell supporters, so we would either be fighting them, or they would tell Ulfric before we got to WIndhelm. So, no. There is no way to get there without a long campaign through most of eastern Skyrim. No way around a long war, it seems."

"Damn it!" shouted Tullius. "Does anyone have any idea how to end this war?" Many of the men in the room looked down, afraid of saying anything foolish. One man looks up.

"There is only one thing I can think of," said one of the men.

"What is it Adventus?"

"The only thing that could possibly end this war quickly is capturing Ulfric when he is on his own. If we cut off the rebellion's head, the body will wither." The other men looked up, no longer self-conscious, now looking far more interested.

"How are we ever going to do that? Ulfric is paranoid," asked a Nord from the other side of the room.

"I agree. We can't possibly get that man out of Windhelm without burning it down." said a Breton next to Tullius.

"Does anyone have any better ideas!" yelled Tullius. " As terrible as it sounds, the only other option is to carve a bloody swath through Skyrim. Alright, it seems we are going to be trying to get Ulfric out of Windhelm, alone, or at least without his entire army. How are we going to do that?"

"I have someone," said a bearded Imperial. "Divines, I would rather not use him, but I think he is our best bet. A conman, Menicus I believe his name is. Little weasel, but good. He never actually enlisted in the army, and nearly got my job and he currently is in charge of a group of fifty men. Little rodent convinced the Jarl of Whiterun to put him in charge of the region. If anyone can convince Ulfric to leave Windhelm, it would be him" Tullius smiled for the first time that meeting.

"Finally, something productive. But we can't have a criminal alone running a mission to end this war, even if we trusted him, and as Cipius pointed out, we don't. Do any of you know of anyone else who would be willing to help on this mission. Not one of us. Ulfric has seen each of us. More than that, we need someone similar to our Menicus. Someone who can pull off a con with our him, but would be willing to keep an eye on him. Do any of you know anyone we can trust to do that?" The room once again looked down, this time out of consideration rather than shame. After a few seconds an elf, the only elf in the room looked up.

"I may know someone. I don't think he fits our description, but he would do what we want. He is a High Elf like me. He is not a team player, actually he isn't very good with other people. But I know he would do anything for this war to end. And he would keep Menicus in line, or at least whatever line he follows himself. All I know is if we put Trallion on, Divines help us, we would be able to end this war." The crowd was clearly confused, but Tullius looked pleased.

"Wonderful. We finally have a plan to end this war."

"And we're leaving it up to a con man and a mad elf," said the Breton.

"To be honest, I don't think we have much of a choice." Tullius smiled.

In Whiterun an Imperial was in a cell. The cell was small, but well lit. The walls, typically grey and cold, have been covered with carpets, as has the floor. The back of the room contains a dresser and large bed. The center of the room contained a table, with two chairs and on the table was a map of whiterun hold. The Imperial was dressed in fine clothes, rich red and purple clothes with the Imperial dragon emblazed on the front. On the other side of the table sat Jarl Balgruuf.

"But we don't have the manpower to take the fort" said the Jarl.

"Well," responded the Imperial "once my men get back from Solitude, I could lead an attack on the fort. They should be back in a few days."

"About that…"

"What's wrong Jarl?" The Jarl looked down, let out a sigh and continued.

"I am afraid you are being transferred to Cyrodiil." The Imperial stood up quickly, knocking over a chair he was sitting in.

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm afraid I am. I can't see any way out of this for you. I assume they won't need you for very long, and while you are gone I will do my best to bring you back. Now sit tight, old friend. The Imperial legion should be here before the end of the week to pick you up." The Jarl stood up and walked to the door, had it opened, and locked it behind him.

"Good bye. I hope to see you again soon." said the Jarl to the Imperial, who was now sitting in his chair looking like a child who had just been told off. The Jarl walked away and left the Imperial alone with a single guard in prison with him. The Imperial got up and walked to the door to his cell.

"Hey, Guard! You have any food up there? I like apples." The guard stood up from the table and walked to the door to the prison itself, standing in the guard room.

"Sorry captain," responded the guard, sincerity obvious in his voice "Only prisoner food for the rest of the time you are here. Jarl's orders. Don't worry though, you will be out of here fairly soon."

"I know. Only a few more days with my favorite people in the whole of Skyrim. Then it's off the Cyrodiil with me. Divines, I wish I could stay here, these prisons are so much nicer than the ones in Cyrodiil." The guard chuckled and walked back to his table, drinking another round of mead. The Imperial walked away from his door, and over to a small chest in the corner of the room. He opened it, took out the pillows inside, and placed them under the blanket of his bed. Then, he dragged the chest aside and picked the lock on the grate underneath.

"As if there is a chance in Oblivion that I will them cart me to Cyrodiil" he whispered, opening the lock for the fifth time since his arrest, "I am getting out of this city, and getting myself some food, no matter what." He jumped down the hole into what was once used as a sewer, when the prison was more populated, but was now only a tunnel leading outside. Walking down the tunnel, passing a bandit's body, he reached his improvised ladder made of old boxes he had found, and climbed into the unused cell. He had been using the cell as a storage locker. He opened the chest in it and put on first a set of imperial armor, then on second thought, the guard uniform he had stolen a week prior. Then he placed a bow and quiver on his back, and tied the small burlap bag to his side.

He jumped back into the tunnel and, walking to the end of it, reached a ladder. He climbed up, and opened the door and entered the storage room of the guard barracks. It was the middle of the day, the time when the most guards were out on duty. The Imperial got up, dusted himself off, and remained in the storage room for a few moments. He wondered what he would do if he were seen. Quickly, he came up with a plan and walked out of the room. He saw the one awake man in the building and walked up to him.

" What are you still doing here!" Shouted the Imperial, with a perfect Nordic accent.

"What… What's going on?" asked the bewildered guard, apparently asleep, or at least daydreaming, under his helmet.

"What's going on! You forgot. I just woke up late, but you have been up for some time. Didn't you know we are supposed to train those new volunteer's today."

"What volunteers?"

"For the bandit militia. I remember you told me about the big bandit problem. Well, I told the Jarl a few days ago. He told me that we should have a militia to round up some of them. Do you remember none of this? Last night, at the tavern, you said you would train them today so I could sleep in. Shor's bones… Why are you just sitting there!" Shouted the Imperial, dragging the guard off his feet.

"I don't remember…"

"Of course you don't, you drunk! Now get to the watchtower. I don't want those volunteers leaving because no one showed up to teach them anything. Run!" The Imperial turned the Guard toward the door, grabbing his keys and coin purse as the guard ran. The guard reached the door, paused briefly, saluted, and kept running toward the city gates.

"Well, that should keep at least one of the busy for a while. One less to realise I am gone." He turned to leave. "Actually…" He turned from the door, a plan forming in his mind, and walked back toward the sleeping night watch guards. He found one who was about his size, and opened the sleeping man's mouth very carefully. Opening the small bag at his side, he found a small vial with the words "sedative/paralysis" written on it, and poured a few drops down the man's mouth. He moved slightly, then stopped.

"Sorry about this friend. I like it even less than you" the Imperial then took the man's clothes off, leaving him in his tunic and trousers, and dragged the man outside, to the front of the guard house. He opened the door, slightly to make sure no one was directly outside, and placed the man next to the door, slumped forward. He went back to the armor he had left piled on the floor and dragged it to the hatch door he had used to enter the room, and threw down to the tunnel, and pulled a box over the hatch. After that, he walked through the room now inhabited only by two sleeping guards and himself. He took the liberty or relieving them of their coin purses and any spare gems, which the Imperial found people had an excess of. Then, after he ate some of the food the guard had been eating, he walked calmly out of the door and began to make his way to the plains district. However, as he past the Gildergreen, he saw another guard, and once again the Imperial realized he had an opportunity. He walked up to the man.

"Have you had a break today?"

"No not yet. I don't get off for another hour."

"That's hardly fair, and on such a hot day. Head back to the barracks, I will cover for you for an hour, after all I will have to stand out here anyway," said the Imperial, smiling warmly in his helmet, forgetting briefly his face was invisible.

"Thank you friend," said the guard, as he walked off. The Imperial watched him go for a time until the guard was about thirty feet away, then began to run down to the plains district. as he ran, he panted audibly. He reached the guards at the gates of the city. One of them began to speak.

"What's the matter friend? Did somebody steal your…"

"There's no time for that!" said the Imperial once again in thick Nordic accent. "I just got down from the prison... The prisoner escaped! Has anyone ran past you leaving the city?" The other guard took his turn to speak, the first still getting over the fact that his joke was interrupted.

"Well, a guard ran this way, but…" he was cut off as he saw three or so guards run down the hill at full speed.

"Hroll has been attacked" shouted one of the guards arriving at the gates, "I found him outside the barracks, armor stolen and unconscious"

"By Oblivion!" shouted the Imperial, "You let him get away. After him! I will gather the rest of the guards!" Every guard in the group ran out the gates, and the Imperial closed the gates behind them. He heard them shouting for the rest of the guards who lined the walls. "Now, I consider that, a success. A whole city to myself and a few sleeping guards. Wonderfull." He walked into the tower, took of his guard uniform, and walked back out, an Imperial soldier, trustworthy, kind, and someone who people wouldn't mind giving free apples to.

In the rift, a High Elf and a Nord were sitting around a table in a relatively small room on top of a mountain. They were both eating fine food, and laughing. The primary difference between the two men was that the elf had three men behind him, all pointing drawn bows at the back of his head. The elf was a thing of curiosity, however. The Nord was what you would expect a Nordic warrior to look like, clad in steel armor, carved with bears and wolves. The Nord was rather normal looking, a large blond beard hanging from his face, and massive with muscles. The elf, on the the other hand, was dressed in formal clothes, slim fitting, black and grey. He was clearly a high elf, his height, and general facial features betrayed that fact. However his skin was far more grey than a normal High elf, and his eyes were an unnerving dark red.

On his back was a staff. It was unusual, it glowed red from it's top and was made of metal, ornately detailed with dark grey lines, which seemed to glow. The head of the staff was surrounded by three small arms which curved toward the center of the staff. The head itself was a spheroid made of metal plates, moving around their center occasionally emitting a faint red light.

"Come now friend, " said the Nord as he drank his mead, "What do you think of the food? Only the best for our patron." The elf smiled, kindly.

"Oh, it's excellent, as ever. I am very proud of the progress you have made here. However, as I am sure you know, judging by my friends behind me, this flattery won't help you. Not after what you did." The Nord smiled back, wiping some mead from his face.

"Yes, yes. I knew we would come to that, old friend. I wish you would reconsider"

"I am afraid not. I know you have been cutting me out of my share of the profits." the elf looked down, a mock sadness across his face. "Now that is very unkind of you. I gave you this mine, and I trained these men for you, by oblivion, I even trained you. But that is not what I am mad about" the Nord looked puzzled, but composed himself quickly. "No, I am here because of who you have been supplying the iron to." The elf stood up and slammed his fist onto the table, startling the bowmen and the Nord.

"You S'wit!", shouted the elf. "You cut me out and are giving the iron to Ulfric the Fetcher Stormcloak! For that, old friend, I am afraid I am going to have to kill you." The elf jumped backwards, swinging his staff into the head into one of the men. The elf held the staff at one of the bowmen, and fired a spike of ice into the man's heart. The other bowman was about to shoot, when the elf jumped to him and grabbed his head. "No more of that." said the elf, soothingly. Red lines flowed from the elf's hand into the bowman's head and the bowman began to attack the Nord at the other side of the table, and Trallion advanced, fire racing down his fingertips.

"Boys, it looks like you owe me some money!" called the Nord, and six more men rushed in. They all charged at once. The closest one was hit full force with a stream of fire and turned to ash, but the rest continued the charge. One tried to hit the elf with his sword, but the elf had ducked and was swinging his staff, with metal plates all pointed out, like a mace, revealing the still beating daedra heart within. Fire leapt from the interior of the staff, burning and cutting the man as it made contact with hit head, killing him quickly. The Bowman recovered his mind, and turned to the fight, pulled back on his bow, and hit the elf in the shoulder, making his staff drop from his hands, just as he cast one last ice spell, impaling yet another man. The elf dropped to his knees, panting. He turned to the archer.

"Nice shot," he gasped, staring at the bowman, still reeling from the pain. One of the men picked up the staff, which had returned to it's original shape. "Careful with that. Wouldn't want anyone else getting hurt today. Well, I do." The elf was still grinning, now manically, and the metaphorical fire had not yet left his eyes. The literal fire was still burning on a wall. The Nord walked up to the elf, and kicked him back to the ground, and the elf spit up blood.

"Now then, old friend, you have forced me to take extreme action. I was hoping we could remain friends,but it seems you have quite literally burned that bridge" he looked at the pile of ash on the floor. The Nord looked to his men. "Pick him up!" the men hauled the elf to his feet. The Nord reached to the arrow, and pulled it out of the elf's shoulder, and the elf screamed.

"Take our friend here to the dungeon. Make sure he stays there until we find something to do with him. I am sure Ulfric would be very interested in seeing him" The elf regained some of his composure, though blood was running down his once immaculate clothes, and he smiled and said nothing as the men dragged him toward the mine itself. The outside of the room was cold, and through the snow the elf could make out the dragon wall, which all the buildings outside were built near. The man who had taken the staff from the floor, walked the store room, and placed it next to the piles of iron and left it there.

As the men dragged the elf along he bobbed in and out of consciousness. After some time the elf was able to hold onto it.

"Excuse me young men, but would you be so kind as to retrieve my staff for me. It's just, I am expected in Riften tomorrow and…" one of the men punched the elf in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Shut up. We saw what you did to our friends. You are going to stay here until Ulfric picks you up." The men continued down a tunnel until they arrived at a small, but well built row of cells.

"You know, I think I helped build this prison." muttered the elf, as they walked to the end of the row, unlocked a large door, and threw the elf into the cell. The cell itself was carved out of the surrounding earth and rock, and the door was thick wood. "Hey, would you be so kind as to hand me a lautern," called the elf after the door was locked. "I would prefer to have some sort of weapon." The men outside his cell laughed and walked back down the hall and up the slope, towards a dining area. The elf sat on the floor a moment, and listened until he was sure most of the men had left. Then he opened his hand and allowed the healing white glow of restoration magic to flow over him. After a few seconds, the wound on his back had healed.

"They ruined my clothes. I gave that s'wit a mine, taught him how to use a sword and run a business. I practically raised him. What does he go and do? Ruin my clothes." the elf sat a moment, mildly confused "And betray me. S'wit." He stood up and pushed on the door, making sure the men had actually locked it. Then he straightened himself, took a deep breath, and called a dremora from oblivion. A bright purple glow filled the room.

"Yes, master" said a rather sad looking dremora in clothes striking similar to the elves.

"For the last time, Winston, call me Trallion. Enough with the formality. We've been friends for a long time," replied the elf, his smile wide, though hidden by the darkness of the cell.

"Five hundred forty eight years, three months and twelve days, sir. If you could call it friendship" the dremora sighed. Then it cast a spell and the room filled with light, nearly blinding Trallion, who was currently making use of his excellent night vision.

"Now, that's hurtful. I thought we were friends. All those gifts I give you... hmph! Anyway, I need you to get my staff. Some n'wah stole it and I like my odds of needing it." The dremora stared at him for a moment.

"You really must take better care of that, sir. You do so often lose it." Then the dremora walked through a purple portal, looked around at the small room full of boxes he had appeared in. He located the staff quickly, and grabbed it. Then he walked through the portal once again and returned to Trallion. "Here you are, sir" said the dremora as he handed the staff back to him, "Do be more careful this time. Is that all sir?" Trallion stood for a moment, his hand on his chin thoughtfully, if cartoonishly.

"No, I believe I will be needing my dagger as well. And a few black soul gems. I have a feeling I will have quite a few souls to collect.

" Very well, sir" and the dremora disappeared again, leaving Trallion momentarily alone. Turning to the door, he held out his staff, and cast a rune onto the door, where he suspected the lock to be. Around the rune a circle appeared, which began to smolder and burn. It continued to burn, in that circle, farther back into the door, slowly, but burning through the door none the less. He turned back around and saw his dremora had returned, and was holding a small bag and a dagger. The dagger was fairly long, and would perhaps by some be considered a short sword. The blade was curved, slightly and had intricate patterns carved onto it, which glowed a similar grey as his staff did. The metal was black as night, and the handle was clearly hewed from the same piece of metal, equally detailed. The pommel was a well cut black soul gem, and appeared to be detachable.

"I will be leaving now sir." said the dremora , handing the dagger to small bag to Trallion.

"What? Oh yes, go back to wherever you are when you aren't with me." the dremora once again stepped through his portal and was gone from the room, the light he had created remaining. Trallion tied the bag of soul gems to his belt, put the dagger in its sheath, the staff on his back, and turned to look at the door. The fire in the door was now very hot, having burnt through the wood it was now melting the lock, the molten metal falling to the floor on both sides of the door.

Once the lock was completely melted Trallion pushed it open and looked outside his cell. The hall was dimly lit by a few lamps that were hung from the walls. As he passed them, he froze them, oil fire no match for frost magic. His staff glowed red, illuminating the room in a dark crimson. He reached the other end of the hall, and willed the light from his staff to cease. Crouching down and looking around the corner, Trallion could see four men sitting around a table, drinking and laughing. Sneaking closer, being sure to avoid any fire light, Trallion began to hear what they were saying.

"Damn elf. I am so glad we're rid of him. We don't need elvish scum ruining our place of business"

"Business? All we do is hit the walls with axes and get payed for doing that. I would not call it a business. Not for us anyway."

"All the same, I wonder if handing over that elf will convince Ulfric we are able to join his army. After all, we are all true sons of Skyrim." All the men threw up their bottles and cheered.

"Fetchers" muttered Trallion, as quietly as he could. Once he was within twenty feet, he took a full black soul gem from his pocket, wave his hand over the staff and the smooth surface slid back into itself, revealing nine black souls gems in notches and one empty notch, near the top. The other nine were filled with souls, the squirming dark energy visible beneath the surface. He placed the soul gem in the staff with the others, and willed the metal to slide back into it's place. He held the staff forward, and, to Trallion, green tendrils snaked out before him, and they grabbed ahold of the men, and began to work their way inside the men's heads. Of course, this was only visible to the magically aware, so the men were completely unfazed. Trallion walked up to them.

"Hello there, friends," Trallion called to the men, in a voice only loud enough to be heard only in that room. The men turned, smiles still plastered on their faces.

"What can I do for you?" asked the nearest one.

"Thank you for asking. Well, when you dragged me down here, I rather lost my sense of direction and I was wondering how I get to the top again."

"Sorry about that," said the confused but happy looking man. "If you go along this hall, turn left, you should come into a large open area with scaffolding and a staircase up. That's the way out." Trallion walked up to the man, his smile far wider and filled with far more malice.

"Oh, thank you very much." Trallion walked behind the man, and threw a dark orb of energy at the man who had just been speaking. He shook his head, and stood up and turned around, face to face with Trallion.

"Pleasant dreams" Trallion pulled out his dagger, and plunged it into the man's heart. Then there was a flash of purple light, and purple streams of energy flowed from the man's body to Trallion, eventually to find it's way to one of his empty soul gems. He turned to the other men, still sitting at the table looking very happy.

"As for you…" he walked behind each of them and cut each of their throats. "Sorry about that. Have fun in the after life" He began to walk out of the room. " Actually…" He turned back to look at the corpses. He opened his staff to inspect the one he had placed earlier was cracked, but retained it's perfectly cut shape. Trallion held out his staff, and a black fog rolled over the men, and three of them stood up, covered in glowing glyphs and symbols, and walked to Trallion. Looking back at his staff, the soul gem was now gone, and a pile of dust on the floor attested to that fact.

"So glad to have some help" said Trallion as he walked up towards the surface once again. Red light leapt from his staff, illuminating him and the zombies following him. He was a necromancer, manic, uncaring, and someone that you would never betray.

The Imperial walked through the market on the plains district, trying to find a mark. There were no guards about, so he was the only authority figure the people could see. He knew he had about twenty minutes before the Guards returned. He was in the center of the market and looked over to a green grocer.

"Finally, some good food." he muttered and walked over to her. He removed his helmet as he walked over to her, trying to look as sincere as he could.

"Fresh fruits and vegetables everyday!" she called as he approached, then looked down. "Mostly."

"Hello." said the Imperial, with a smooth and kind voice. "I was wondering if you had the Imperial Legion order ready yet?" She looked up quickly, a look of fear crossed her face, then confusion.

"I… I don't remember any…" The Imperial smiled widely.

"Don't worry, I am sure it is not your fault. I sent a man here a few days ago to ask you for some food, but I bet the little milk-drinker went to the tavern and used the money to get drunk instead." The woman went from fear to happiness.

"I would still be glad to fill your order. What did you need?"

"That's most kind of you. Glad to know some people in Skyrim still support the legion. Actually, what we really needed was some fresh fruit. There is more than enough cabbage to go around." He chuckled, causing the woman to chuckle as well. "Do you have any fruits? I say fresh, but I would be fine with mostly." She blushed and looked behind her stall, looking for any fruits.

"All I have are these apples." She held up a fairly large burlap bag, and light gleamed in the Imperials eyes.

"Oh, thank you so much." He turned to grab at his purse, and continued to fumble behind himself, careful not to actually touch his purse. He then put his hand around his waist the other way and fumbled once again.

"Oh, I am so sorry," said the Imperial, looking quite embarrassed. "It seems I don't have my purse. I think it may have been stolen… Anyway, would you take my word as an officer that these fruits will be paid for." She looked at him for a moment and made up her mind.

"Of course I would." she handed him the large sack, and he grabbed it, sagged briefly from the weight then looked back at her.

"Thank you very much. Don't you fret, I will have that lad I sent here the first time get the money to you. After I talk to him, there is no chance he would dare fail to pay you."

He turned and walked toward the gates. He turned briefly and waved, and the grocer waved back and went back to her work. Reaching the gates, the Imperial looked to the sun. Still plenty of time before sundown, but evening was approaching. He pushed open the gates, with a struggle, and walked outside. The walls were barren of the usual four guards, who had clearly been lured away by his deception. He walked to the base of the great stone ramp that lead up to the walled city of Whiterun. There was an older Nord man yelling at what must have been his son, who was brushing a horse.

"Ah, a getaway. Wonderful" He walked up to the Nords, helmet back on his head, looking as official as possible.

"Gentlemen. I will be requiring one of your horses." Both men turned to look at the Imperial soldier who had spoken to them. The older Nord responded first.

"Well, you have come to the right place. What type of horse will you be purchasing today?" The soldier approached him and looked him dead in the eye.

"I don't have to pay for a horse. The army will reimburse you, but I require one now." The Nord man grew red with anger.

"Now, listen here. I may be an old Nord, but I won't give you a horse for free. I don't care if you say the legion will 'reimburse me.' If you don't give me a reason to trust you, you won't be getting a horse." The soldier looked just as angry, then cooled down and spoke to the man less harshly.

"I apologize for my rashness. I am in a bit of a rush. I apologize. I suppose I must tell you why I need a horse. I assume you gentlemen saw the large group of guards run by not long ago." Both men nodded, the older one more suspiciously. "Well, a prisoner of the Imperial army escaped. And he was planning on going to the Aldmeri dominion to sell information about Whiterun's weakness' to them." The young man looked shocked, and even the older man allowed a brief look of shock to cross his face, before he returned to his impassive stare.

"What I have here gentlemen," he said as he shook the bag of apples he was holding, " is some of the things the traitor was attempting to sell to the Aldmeri dominion. It also contains some of the prisoner's personal effects and weapons." The young man looked up.

"What type of secrets was he trying to sell, because I don't think that…"

"Shut up boy," shouted his father.

"No, it's fine," said the soldier, smiling kindly. "Obviously I can't tell you, but I like your curiosity. Now, would I be able to get that horse. Any horse will do." The older Nord turned and looked at his meager supply of horses.

"I do have one. But I need to know I will get paid for it."

"Oh of course. I suspect there will be an dispatch from the legion soon because of the escape. When they come, tell the general that Legionar Reman gave you his word that this horse will be paid for. He will give you the money right away."

"Alright," sighed the old man. "Boy, go get this man his horse!" The young man jumped away and ran to the stables, grabbing a shaggy little beast with brown fur. He walked it over to the men.

"Here you are sir," said the young man bowing slightly. He handed the reigns to the soldier.

"No need to bow young man, but thank you." The soldier took the reigns from the boy's hands, and then threw his bag of evidence onto the saddle of the horse. He tied it to one of the saddle bags, and got on.

"The Imperial army thanks you both. Remember, tell them it was Legionar Reman who bought the horse." He galloped away, toward Helgen as fast as he could go on the small work horse. The horse galloped slowly, but did not slow once they reached the hill. Menicus reached into the bag of evidence, removed one of the apples, bit into it and smiled. The trees were still green, the summer not quite giving up it's hold of the land just yet. Looking behind himself, Menicus could see the tower had had sent the guards to. He could just make out the group of men moving back towards the city, but then it was lost behind the trees.

"Have fun gentlemen" he chuckled as he rode on. The road wound up a mountain and he went up it, staying on the road when possible. When it flattened again, he followed the small river that ran alongside the road, and caught sight of the small town. Taking the bow off his back and tying it to the saddle, he smoothed his hair and put his helmet on the saddle as well. He slowed the horse to a walk and entered the town, looking official. He finished his apple and threw it into the river, watching it bob and roll as flowed onward with the current. He reached the bridge of the city, held his hands up to his mouth and yelled.

"Please form an orderly line! Imperial Taxes!" the Imperial heard the groans of the few nearby. A few actually ran inside and closed the door. The Imperial called again. This time a few people walked up to him, as he jumped off his horse and walked up to the blacksmith.

"Excuse me, sir." said the Imperial with formality almost palpable in the air. " Would you be so kind as to allow me to use your deck here for a moment" The blacksmith turned to look at him.

"I suppose so. How long will this take?"

"For you, no time at all. No taxes on blacksmiths as they are part of the war effort. And for them" he said gesturing to the four people who were walking to the deck, " Less than ten minutes. I hope that would be agreeable." The blacksmith had stopped listening when he heard of the tax break, and simply nodded and went back to work.

"How much do we owe the great Imperial legion?" said a woman mockingly as she walked up to the tax collector.

"Occupation?" asked the tax collector, reading a book, which he had pulled out of a bag on the horse's saddle.

"I am a work at the mills, with my husband. What do you need from us?" she crossed her arm's, attempting to look as intimidating as possible.

"Sixty septims. Thirty from you, thrity from your husband." a look of shock crossed her face, and she grabbed her coin purse and threw it at him.

"Keep your damn gold." she muttered walking down from the steps. A young man walked up the steps, with a smile on his face.

"Good day to you friend. What is the damage today? Ah, yes. I am a bard." The man was cheery, but under his smile the tax collector could see that he just wanted to leave.

"Hmm. Twenty coins from you, then." The man looked hurt and reached behind himself and grabbed his coin purse. He selected twenty out of it very carefully, handed it to the tax collector. Eventually, even the people who had hid in their homes got out and joined the line, met by the inevitability of taxation. Once the last person had walked through, the Imperial had aquired well over four hundred septims.

After had had acquired a larger coin purse, he got back on his horse and road away. He could still hear the grumbles of complaint from the citizens ringing in his ears. It was getting late, so he continued to ride on, hoping to reach Helgen by nightfall. He rode along the river, taking in the beauty of it's sound, but infact far more entranced with the jingle of the coins in his pocket. As he reached the standing stones, he dismounted his horse and walked up to the thief stone. Being the sign that Menicus was born under, he felt it necessary for him to put his hand on it, and hope that luck would be on his side. He remounted his horse and rode on, missing the column of light which shot from the stone.

After going a few feet, Menicus could see a group of armed men, barricading the street, fortunately facing the other way. He reached for his bow quickly, coated an arrow in a light red liquid, and drew the bow back. As Menicus concentrated, the world seemed to slow down, all his focus on the target. He exhaled and held his breath. He aimed. He fired. The arrow flew straight and into the shoulder of a rather large Nord. He stumbled slightly, let up a mighty yell, and attacked his two companions. The two of them startled, one was injured before even noticing what was going on and the other, jumped back, fearing the same would happen to him. Then, as quickly as the man flew into a rage, he fell to the ground.

The other man looked startled, saw a horse in the distance, and was hit in the upper leg by an arrow, and fell to the ground yelling. In a few moments he became quiet as well, leaving only the man with the rather nasty chest wound on the ground muttering. Menicus continued on toward Hegen. The sky was beginning to grow dark and the air cold, winter showing its eternal might this high up. As he rode on, Menicus could see animals in the woods, but ignored them as he did with most natural things. After all, most of them were not profitable.

Eventually, in the distance, Menicus could see the lights of a city in the distance. He urged his horse to go faster, which it did not, maintaining the same relentless trot it had kept up the entire day. Coming to the gates, he saw them wide open and unguarded, so he rode right in. Turning to the left, he saw the tavern and made right for it. He walked inside, the warmth a blessing to his cold body and walked up to the owner.

"Excuse me friend." said the Imperial as he approached the man. "Would you happen to have a room for a weary Imperial soldier" Having been well trained, the owner rehearsed the lines he was supposed to say in his head, then spoke.

"Of course. What name should I put down here for you" he said gesturing to a blank book.

"Captain Reman. I am afraid I don't have the coin to pay, but I am sure…" Menicus was cut off due to being thrown to the floor by a man behind him. A few others ran up and grabbed hold of his arms and legs and led him out of the tavern and back through the streets.

"Gentlemen. There has been a misunderstanding…" One of the captors spoke up.

"None at all, Captain Menicus" said the man, putting allot of effort into making sure the Imperial heard the tilt of the letters. "General Tullius would like a word with you." Menicus ceased struggling temporarily.

"But, I didn't do anything that wrong…" he complained as he was finally dragged into a building.

"Don't worry" said a voice from behind him. The speaker was an older Imperial, in a fine Imperial uniform, with gold emblazed on it. "You're not here to be punished." Menicus relaxed slightly. "You're here to finally be some use to the empire. You are going to help us capture Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I think that, first, I'm going to need a drink." he said as he slumped into a chair, miserably.

The sun had been set for some time, even before Trallion was imprisoned. So once he and his merry band of undead reached the top of the mine, it was pitch black, the only light from torches on the various shacks and ramshackle buildings set up to make this small community of miners. Of course, the light was only so bright, as the heavy snow lowed visibility massively.

"There's one thing you can say about Skyrim, without any doubt," Trallion whispered to one of the undead nearby. "It's that it will always be willing to provide its worst weather at the best of time."

Rather rudely, the zombie did not respond.

"I want you three to wait inside. I will call for you when I need you. It's been a while since I have been able to do anything this… fun" The three undead shambled back into the closed the door, leaned back on it and looked in front of him, admiring the small colony he had helped create. A few years prior he met a young, ambitious Nord in Iron-Breaker mine, in Dawnstar. The Nord was a strong man, and willing to do anything to make some coin. So Trallion decided to mentor him, and teach him how to create, and invariably defend a business. All the usual steps, pay off the thieves guild, hunt down local bandits, and other, normal, business model such as that. Now, he had a healthy mine going. A group of thirty men worked there, all helping to grow and expand the wealth of the young Nord, and the elf. The top of the mountain served as home to all of the men working at the mine. Despite the risk of snow, the mountain top was usually temperate and gave a great view of the surrounding landscape.

"Such a shame then, that I will need to tear this all down," said the elf. He walked to the nearest building and opened the door, pulling the staff from his back. The light inside was dim, but far brighter than that of outside, so he was able to adjust his eyes quickly. There were two men inside the building. One was sitting by a fire, seemingly asleep in his chair. The other was against the wall, reeling from the intruder. The elf held out his staff, and lightning leapt from it, distenitgrating the sleeping man immediately. The other man had just recovered and was removing his bow from his back.

"Don't you dare!" yelled the elf, holding his staff in front of him. There was a fire burning, metaphorically, in the elves eyes. There was a fire burning, literally, on the end of his staff, currently an inch or two from the man's face.

"Hey, I recognize you. Yeah, you were the one who shot me. That was a pretty nice shot. Not many people would have the guts to shoot me," said the elf calmly fire still crackling on the end of the staff. The Nord looked terrified, dropped his bow and slowly backed up.

"I… I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, of course you did. But, that's why I like you." The elf lowered the staff, though neither the metaphorical nor the literal fire left his person.

"Here's what I am going to do," said the elf, "I'm going to give you a choice. You can leave this mountain, leave this country, never see me again, and I will let you walk out the front door and you get to live the rest of your life however you choose… Away from me. Or… You could stay here, with all the fire that I'm about to call down on this place. It's up to you." The elf smiled and moved away from the door. He was smiling wildly, perhaps sincerely, and gesturing toward the door.

"I… I'm going to leave," stammered the young Nord walking towards the door.

"Good choice. The men at door shouldn't give you any trouble. Oh, and here, for the road." The elf reached behind him and pulled out a bag of gold and handed to the young Nord who was leaving. The man took the bag and ran out the door into the raging blizzard. Trallion chuckled briefly, and held his staff toward the wall.

Outside the fire could be seen fairly quickly. The flames, originating from inside, quickly made their way to the exterior building, the blizzard doing nothing to stop its raging heat. The fire quickly spread, rooftop to rooftop, and those who did not leave the buildings were engulfed.

"How in Oblivion did this happen!" yelled a Nord standing at the far side of the camp. He was standing in a group of fifteen men, next to one of the few buildings not on fire.

"We have no idea. Though I would put some money on Rolland having spilled some mead on the fire in his room. The horker-brained fool." Despite the darkness and the driving blizzard, the whole scene was lit up by the roaring flames. Though, long flickering shadows were everywhere, and the lack of somewhere to sleep was annoying some of the men. The leader spoke up once again.

"Do we know that everyone made it out alright? Did everyone get out of their bunks?" Out in the shadows a figure appeared, distorted by the flickering flames.

"Oh, Skelgar, you know me better than that. No, not everyone made it out alright. That is rather why I am here." They could see the figure, but the voice appeared from everywhere. A rational mind would say the wind caused the voice to seem to move. However, as rational explanations often are, this would be incorrect.

"How in Oblivion did you get out? You told me those cells were inescapable!"

"Listen here you S'wit! I am not here the ramble about why or how like a madman. You, and your miserable band of men, who have become little better than bandits, are going to die. Every last one of you!" The figure disappeared, and three others took it's place. These kept advancing, swords clearly drawn, skin pale and eyes blank, toward the group of men. One of the workers almost smiled.

"Hey," he started enthusiastically, "is that Hol... "

"Ready your weapons men," yelled Skellgar, " This is a war, and if any of you die, you'll be on the wrong side." He pulled the sword from his back, and charged, his men following him. The undead became surrounded, and began to attack. They fought well, bodies still strong, and numb to pain. The undead attacked with vigor, blocking most every strike made against them, ignoring those that managed to hit. The men one the other hand fared worse. The undead were quick, and despite the number of living, the fire around them prevented too many from getting close at any given time. They managed to block most swings, but would get hit from time to time and falter, giving the undead a chance to attack again, or at another. Five men died, and stayed dead, despite the warning, killed by the undead without mercy. They were eventually felled, by Skellgar, and he turned back to the darkness.

"Your tricks can't stop us. There is only one of you know, and over ten of us. What chance do you have, you pitiful elf!"

Behind him, he heard the sound of snow crunching, so he turned with his sword held in front of him. He saw the elf, his blade bloody, and two men lying in the snow.

"A good chance, I'd say. After all, I taught you everything you know, but nowhere near everything I know." The lunged forward, grabbing the man nearest him. The man's face grew pale, dark lines coursing up his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

The remaining men attacked, and Trallion defended himself. A man lunged, and Trallion deflected the blow with his staff, and plunged the dagger into the man's heart as he lowered his staff. A bolt of fire leapt from it into the chest of a nearby assailant, leaving a hole through his chest. Another man lunged at him sword raised, Trallion grabbed the man's arm, and threw him into a nearby burning building. He held up his hand, and a wave of green lightning left his hand, hitting several of the men at once, who fell to the ground, shaking. The only one's who remained standing were Trallion and Skellgar. They began to circle each other.

"I created this place for you!" yelled Trallion. "I gave you these men, your skills, your protection, I gave you so much. And you throw it all away for what? Ulfric!" He lunged with his dagger, and Skellgar sidestepped, attempted a repose and had it parried by Trallion's staff.

"Ulfric is going to save Skyrim! Those elves are trying to ruin us. You hate the Aldmeri Dominion just as much as Ulfric. I thought you would understand. At the very least, I hoped I could convince you. But you always refused. So I cut you out, for this country. I do not regret my actions." The Nord attacked Trallion, swinging his sword overhead. Just before he reached Trallion, he stopped, like a force had hit him. He looked down with his eye and saw a green aura around him. Trallion walked right up to Skellgar, the sword inches above his head.

"This is not about your country! Ulfric is a danger to Tamriel. You Nords are such wonderful fighters. Your skill with a sword matches an elven skill with a spell. The Aldmeri Dominion must be stopped, yes. But you leaving the empire will not do that. The elves can take the rest of the empire without the protection of Skyrim's best warrior's. Once that is done, this little frozen wasteland will fall easily to the Dominion without the protection of the empire. This is bigger than your little gods and your little wars. This is bigger than you can know. And this is why you have to die. I really am sorry."

Trallion waved his hand over his dagger, a purple outline appears around it, faintly. Then he plunged it into the man's heart. The paralysis ended, and he collapsed to the ground, while purple energy flowed to Trallion. The fires still raged, and the blizzard continued. He looked at the small pile of corpses and saw this zombies stand up and go back to the mine, where they would stay.

"I really am sorry old friend. You gave me no choice. Goodbye. And goodbye to you, Northwind Mine. It's been fun." He turned toward the entrance of the mine when he heard a noise behind him. He turned and saw Winston, standing in the snow, looking impatient as ever.

"Excuse me sir, but it seems that the Empire requires your assistance in eliminating Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Oh, this will be fun."

A.N. Ok, first Chapter. I hope you liked. As should always be recommended, please leave any praise or criticism(especially criticism) in the reviews. I will live up to my promise of incorporating the Dragonborn in next chapter(unless I decide to do that later). I hope you enjoyed.


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